


Silents In The Library

by TerryBalls



Series: What I Did In My Midlife Crisis by Sally Sparrow [2]
Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett, Doctor Who, Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (2005), The Tiffany Aching Series - Terry Pratchett
Genre: BAMF Sally Sparrow, BAMF Women, Big Finish References, Bulgakov references, Classic Who references, Dementia, Discworld References, Douglas Adams, Erimem reference, Gen, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Genderfluid Doctor (Doctor Who), Iris Wildthyme references, Post-Episode: s09e12 Hell Bent, References to Illness, Some scary shit, Sylvia Plath References, cw: torture, gets progressively less cosy, scots, starts off very cosy, zero hanky-panky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-14 07:40:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29292282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TerryBalls/pseuds/TerryBalls
Summary: The story continues from where "What I Did In My Midlife Crisis" left off.The Twelfth Doctor (between "Hell Bent" and "The Husbands of River Song") takes Sally Sparrow (14 years on from "Blink") on the world's safest adventure - a bibliotherapy retreat at a wonderful library where nothing ever goes wrong. Then the Doctor starts behaving erratically, old foes surface, and fictional characters spring to life. Can Sally trust the Doctor - and more importantly, can she trust herself?
Relationships: The Doctor (Doctor Who) & Sally Sparrow, Twelfth Doctor/Esmerelda Weatherwax
Series: What I Did In My Midlife Crisis by Sally Sparrow [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2138214
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Before we get started, I'd just like to elaborate upon, and reinforce, some of the tags. This note contains content that some may consider SPOILERS FOR THE STORY, although I have minimised them. I include it so that readers with particular sensitivities can make informed decisions about whether to read.
> 
> SPOILERS START BELOW.
> 
> I have tagged this as "teen and up" and "graphic depiction of violence" out of an abundance of caution. This is primarily because of a couple of scenes in Chapters 5 and 7 where the Silence do their lightning shooting thing. The early sections of this fic are extremely fluffy and comfy, and I could probably produce a G-rated version of this, but didn't want to undercut Sally's character moments.
> 
> This story has some themes of memory. Early in the story, Sally speculates that the Doctor may be developing a form of dementia, but this is skimmed over quickly.
> 
> This is, first and foremost, a Doctor Who fic. The Discworld characters play relatively minor roles, but I am quite proud of some of the Feegle dialogue. I found Granny Weatherwax considerably harder to write for, but I hope I haven't butchered her character too badly! Due to the nature of the story, there are lots of passing references to famous authors and their works, but Terry Pratchett gets by far the most attention (with Sylvia Plath in second - Sally is 100% a Plath fangirl). There are also a lot of throwaway references to concepts from the wider world of Doctor Who.
> 
> Sexual content and relationships: I headcanon the Twelfth Doctor as a panromantic sex-positive asexual, and Granny Weatherwax as an asexual who is somewhere on the aromantic spectrum. I have tagged this work as a "relationship" fic because I think those inclined to read it that way could do so. I do think they'd be compatible if they were to pursue a sort of lavender marriage. The closest thing to sexual content is a brief passage of implied nudity when Sally takes a bath. If you like, you can imagine that she takes the bath fully clothed. 
> 
> SPOILERS END
> 
> Right, consider yourselves warned and informed. I hope you enjoy the story. As ever, all concrit enthusiastically welcomed.

The first time Sally got in the TARDIS, it disappeared without her.

The first time she flew in it, she piloted it herself using the telepathic circuits.

So it came as some surprise to find out that this was a ship which the Doctor usually piloted himself. He ran around the console, flicking switches and pulling levers and generally fiddling. The TARDIS rocked around dramatically, and Sally had to hold on to the rails to stay on her feet.

“If flying it is this dangerous then why don’t you just use the telepathic circuits every time?” asked Sally.

“That takes all the fun out of it!” said the Doctor. “Besides, you don’t want to know what I’m thinking about. And here!” He slammed down a particularly heavy lever and the TARDIS came to rest. “Right, we’ve landed. Come on!”

“And this is going to be a nice, calm outing?”

“I promise, no monsters. I specifically checked, and at no point in the history of this entire planet did anything evil ever threaten anyone.”

“And… Doctor, it’s been a long day, I’ve been up for nearly 24 hours. Can I have a nap first?”

“Erm, let me make a few adjustments…” said the Doctor. They took off again, and Sally desperately grabbed the edge of the console to keep her balance. They flailed around for several seconds as the Doctor tapped away on a machine like a typewriter. “OK, I made reservations for us and then took us forward to when they’re due. Our rooms should be ready. Let’s go.”

“Rooms? Is this… some sort of spa hotel?”

“Something like that, come on,” said the Doctor. He threw open the TARDIS doors and Sally stepped out in wonder. They were in the foyer of a giant library. Natural light streamed down from a great glass roof, illuminating floors and floors of birch bookshelves joined by a network of staircases, ladders, and lifts. There were plenty of little passages between the shelves, leading off to untold numbers of further shelves and little cubby holes for reading in snug comfort. Sally could make out a few people browsing the visible shelves or sat reading, although they all had plenty of space to themselves. And then she realised that some of them weren’t human at all. A furry creature was holding a book open with its trunk, while another one of the people seemed to be composed of a shifting swarm of ants stacked into human form.

Just in front of the TARDIS was a front desk of sorts. Even this seemed to be composed of bookshelves crammed full with hardbacks. A bell sat on top of the desk, and the Doctor gave it a ring.

There was a sound like a gust of wind up above them. Sally looked up and saw a purple speck falling towards them. It grew as it fell, and Sally realised it was a bird creature. It spread its wings as it fell, revealing an incredible wingspan, and pulled out of its dive. With a couple of almighty flaps, it began to hover, and then descended the last few metres. It stood about five foot tall, and was really dazzlingly beautiful, with glistening feathers of violet and mauve and magenta.

“Sorry about that,” it said. _He_ , thought Sally, _not it_. “Welcome to Alexandria. Could I take your name, species, and preferred pronoun?”

“The Doctor, Time Lord, he/they.”

“Sally Sparrow, human, she/her.”

“Ah, yes, I see you on our system. I am Lory, Obro, she/her.” Sally felt something stir in her at that, which was curious. “I see you’re both booked into our deluxe package. Hold still for a second.” Obro raised a tiny pink arm – Sally hadn’t noticed it – picked up a small device that reminded Sally of a laser pointer. He pointed it at Sally’s forehead.

“Erm, Doctor,” said Sally.

“Brain scan. Just hold still and follow Obro’s instructions. It’s completely safe.”

“Right, Sally Sparrow,” said Obro. “Imagine you’re reading a great book.” Sally’s mind immediately went to reading _Midnight’s Children_ under the covers by torchlight. “Imagine you’re in complete comfort.” Sally imagined sunbathing by the pool, sipping on a Pina Colada. “Imagine luxury and decadence.” Chocolate cake on a king-sized bed. “OK, now, back to books. If you could imagine a selection of your favourite titles… the times you’ve been utterly gripped… times you have felt intense emotion… feel free to consider non-fiction, too, if you wish. Great. Now, things you really don’t want to experience in your books… OK, that should be plenty for us to work with. Your room should be ready now. Doctor, I see you have visited us a considerable number of times before…”

“Do me again,” said the Doctor. “I’ve been through a lot lately. It’s probably affected my tastes.”

Obro turned the scanner onto the Doctor and ran through a very similar set of questions. “OK then,” she said. “Let me take you up to your suite.” She led the Doctor and Sally into a large circular lift behind the desk. The walls of the lift, like the rest of the building, were lined with bookshelves. Sally’s eyes were drawn to _Midnight’s Children_ , and then _Remains of the Day, The God of Small Things, The Luminaries._ Then she made the connection. This was a collection of Booker Prize winners, but it extended well beyond her time. There must have been a thousand prize winners on the shelves. Sally was stunned. There was a lifetime’s worth of reading in this lift alone, and far more out in the library.

“Sorry,” said Sally, as the lift began to rise. “I’m not quite sure I’m keeping up. What was that all about?”

“Oh, was this a surprise? Here on Alexandria we have copies of every book ever written, or that ever could have been written, or ever will be written, from every civilisation on every planet in recorded history. We store most of them electronically, and they can be accessed from our website, but our curated physical collection is our real pride. Most of our visitors come to enjoy Alexandria as a monument to knowledge and wonder, but ultimately our funding comes from providing a deluxe service to patrons such as yourselves.”

They reached the top of the lift and stepped out. In front of them were two oak doors. The one on the left was engraved in gold writing with _The Doctor, Time Lord, he/they_ , while the one on the right was engraved with _Sally Sparrow, human, she/her_.

“After you, Sally Sparrow,” said Obro. Sally pushed her door open onto a large room.

“Wow,” she said. It was the most magical room she had ever seen. Most of the walls were lined with bookshelves from floor to ceiling, the highest being at just the right height for Sally to reach. There was a thick, soft carpet. In one corner there was a large, steaming bath, surrounded by candles. The scent of lavender and sea salt wafted over to Sally. In another corner, a cushy armchair that Sally could already imagine herself sinking into was sat next to a roaring fireplace. On one arm balanced a large slice of chocolate cake and a tower of warm scones with cream and jam, while on the other there was a mug of hot chocolate topped with cream and marshmallows. And then there was the bed, a king-sized four-poster with plenty of pillows and a thick set of duvets.

“The books in this room have been curated to match your tastes and preferences. They are completely indestructible and come equipped with several features to make them easier to read. The shelf by your bed contains our very highest recommendations. There is a small tablet on your bedside table that contains a guide to the books. If you prefer, you can use it to access them as ebooks, audiobooks, or visualisations. Do you have a towel?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Rule four: always carry a towel. Immense practical and psychological value,” whispered the Doctor kindly.

“No matter,” said Obro. “The room comes equipped with a delocalised 3D printing swarm. Anything you need will be provided by the room,” she said, and a folded blue towel appeared on the bed. “You are booked in for a three-night stay. Enjoy your night.” 


	2. Chapter 2

Sally was tired, but that had rarely come between her and a good book.

The first book she picked off the shelf was a slim Kafka title she’d never heard of, with a publication date of 1951. It was called _The Many._ The blurb made it sound incredibly enticing, but it wasn’t the sort of thing she was looking for right now.

Next she found a copy of _The Master and the Margarita._ Odd – that was one she had already read and loved, although she didn’t remember it being 600 pages long. She checked the guide provided. This text was the Author’s Preferred Edition, compiled by the Alexandria Foundation for the satisfaction of a time-scooped Mikhail Bulgahov from fragments found across the multiverse. Again, one she’d have to take away with her, but not right now.

There was Thomas Hardy’s _The Poor Man and the Lady,_ three separate titles by Anne Brontë, and a Shakespearean comedy about an Egyptian pharaoh caught up in the War of the Roses. There was even a book about the adventures of Iris Wildthyme, a character who seemed oddly familiar in a way Sally couldn’t quit pin down. Sally felt like a child in a sweet shop, unable to choose between hundreds of equally tempting options. But then she stumbled upon the perfect title.

Sally’s very favourite book was _The Bell Jar_ by Sylvia Plath, who had committed suicide shortly after finishing her only novel. At least, in Sally’s world she had. But here, on the shelf by Sally’s bed for the library’s highest recommendations, was a second Plath novel, _Double Exposure._ Sally wasn’t in the mood for an angsty novel right now, but she had been in the mood for another Sylvia Plath novel for twenty years. So she pulled _Double Exposure_ off the shelf and settled down to read it.

Sally undressed and hopped in the bath, which was the perfect depth and temperature. She was pleasantly surprised to find that the book hovered open above the water, and turned its own pages when she was done, allowing her to read it hands free. She spent an hour soaking in the bath and soaking in Plath’s prose while sipping on cool white wine.

Sally hungered. She got out of the bath, wrapped herself in a towel, and settled into the armchair, allowing herself to dry naturally by the fire. The book continued to hover for her to read as she munched first on scones, and then on the chocolate cake. It was a tremendously sad book. Sally used to think that sad was “happy for deep people”. That was part of the reason she loved _The Bell Jar_ – it made her feel sad, yes, but also righteously angry, and pleased that she was smart enough to realise how messed up the world was for young women. Now that she was that bit older, she wasn’t sure that there was any glory in sadness any more. But just for today, she could remember what it was like to be a difficult young woman who wanted to set the world on fire.

Once she was dry, Sally changed into a silk nightie provided by the room and wrapped herself up in the duvet. She sipped on hot chocolate and read one last chapter before going to sleep, extremely content and relaxed.

***

The Doctor was a keen reader, but when you are in the business of saving the world you don’t always get time to read everything you want. Coming to Alexandria was their best opportunity to actually get reading done, other than snatched seconds between adventures on the TARDIS. They were making the most of it.

The Doctor held one book in each hand, dedicating one eye to reading each one. He also had a separate audio book playing in each ear. The Doctor was more than capable of reading four books at once, and much faster than a human could read one.

Soon the Doctor was nearly done with the latest set of recommendations. All that remained was a collection of Discworld novels from a universe where Terry Pratchett had been reincarnated as a Buddhist Artificial Intelligence. Alexandria had a surprisingly large number of books by alternative Pratchetts – Pratchetts who were born in India or Gabon or Sumeria, Pratchetts who had been declared God-Emperor of Japan, Pratchetts who grew up on worlds where Zygons and humans and Cybermen lived in harmony – and the Doctor knew that these were just a tiny drop of a collection that covered several hectares of the library.

The Doctor was intrigued by the option of viewing books as visualisations. This was a technique that essentially turned the book into a personal film that suited the tastes and inclinations of the reader. It was ideal for those who lacked the ability to visualise, or who couldn’t read, or simply weren’t in the mood. The Doctor was the sort of person who was always doing separate things with each eye, so visualisations weren’t to their taste… but perhaps it would be a nice change of pace. The Doctor could stretch a book out over a few hours rather than mere minutes.

The Doctor selected one of the parallel Pratchetts – _The Highest Science_ , which seemed to be a Discworldian _Breaking Bad_ – and selected “Visualise”. Disappointingly, nothing happened. Hmm. It must not be designed for Time Lord brains. Strange. Everything else in this place was compatible with the Doctor’s neurology. Maybe the Visualiser was broken. The Doctor decided to see if he could find a member of the library’s night shift. They should be able to fix it.


	3. Chapter 3

Sally woke up to the sound of knocking at her door.

“Come on Sally, it’s morning, time to explore!” The Doctor’s voice came through the door.

“Doctor?” said Sally, weary eyed. She checked her watch. “It’s 6PM.”

“It’s 6PM in Cardiff in 2021. You’ve time travelled twice since you last set your watch. Anyway, there is no 6PM in Alexandria. It’s getting up time. You’ll love the breakfasts they put on here, I promise.”

Sally quickly got dressed – although it felt wrong to get back into the clothes she’d worn yesterday – and they took the lift down to the fifth floor, which contained the library’s best cafeteria.

“Did you sleep OK?” asked Sally.

“I don’t sleep,” said the Doctor. “I stayed up reading, and then I went to get some technical support, but I couldn’t find any, so I played video games instead.”

“You’re in the world’s largest library and you played video games?”

“You think video games can’t give you the same experience? I’ve got loads to show you. The library doesn’t discriminate.”

They headed through twisty rows of books, and Sally was thoroughly disoriented by the time they reached the cafeteria. Truth be told, it was in a lot of ways like an independent café, with varnished wooden floors and soft furnishings. Like the rest of the library, the café twisted and turned, creating cosy spaces where visitors could eat in peace, as opposed to the open spaces of a cafeteria.

A green-skinned, green-furred monkey-like man identified the Doctor and Sally as deluxe package holders, and escorted them to a particularly fine corner of the café. A shelf of the best short story collections in the library sat by their table, and Sally read two delightful little tales before their food arrived. They were served an eclectic platter of fruit, some of which were familiar to Sally, eggs over-easy, yogurt, and jam croissants. The fruit was all delightful; much of it was like Earth fruit but more intensely flavoured, while some of it had tastes that were completely unfamiliar to Sally. The eggs were just as Sally liked them, with a set white and a runny yolk. Both the yogurt and the jam croissant contained a complex blend of the fruits from the table, with a taste that had hints of raspberry, blackberry, and blackcurrant. Sally savoured every mouthful, allowing the tastes to sit on her palate.

As she tucked into her second croissant, Sally noticed the back of the Doctor’s left hand had the number 11 marked on it.

“What’s up with the 11?” she asked the Doctor.

“The Eleven was a rogue member of my people who had an unfortunate defect in his regenerative capacities…”

“No, I mean, there’s a number 11 on the back of your hand.”

“Oh,” said the Doctor. He looked at his hand. “I don’t think that’s an 11, it’s probably an equals sign.” He showed Sally his hand, oriented so that the two parallel lines were running parallel to the ground.

Sally took a bite of her croissant, chewed and quickly swallowed. “Only probably? Why is there an equals sign on your hand?”

“Don’t know,” said the Doctor. “Don’t remember putting it there. That’s probably important. Can’t quite… sorry. I’m usually very good at remembering why things are important. Still dealing with my memory loss.”

Sally paused for a second, digesting what the Doctor had said. “Is it… is it some sort of analogue to dementia?”

“No. No, it’s more like… I suppose the closest thing that human medical science has documented is post-traumatic retrograde amnesia.”

“Like… PTSD?”

“No, trauma as in brain trauma. I had my memory wiped, it’s a type of brain injury. Time Lord brains have extremely high rates of neurogenesis and neuroplasticity, so it shouldn’t take too long for my brain to recover… there are some things that I won’t get back, but in theory the gaps around those things should start to get filled in over the next few decades.”

“That… that doesn’t sound like a quick recovery.”

“Oh, well, Time Lords live over a much longer time scale than humans. And our brains repair themselves quickly, but they’re much more complicated to begin with, so there are more repairs to be done in order to get back to my usual standards. No offence.”

Sally wasn’t sure exactly what she was supposed to be offended by. She finished the last bite of her croissant. She was now pleasantly full. “OK, we’ve done bedrooms and we’ve done breakfast. What else does Alexandria have to offer?”

“What, this isn’t enough for you?” said the Doctor. “I suppose we could visit the adventure playground…”

“Wait, didn’t you need to speak to tech support?” said Sally. “We could try to find them.”

“Well, I suppose that’s as good a plan as any,” said the Doctor. Sally was regretting bringing up the memory issues. It could be a sensitive subject for anyone, but it seemed to really have put the Doctor on edge. It wasn’t really any of her business, but she’d got the impression that the Doctor wanted her to ask. Perhaps not. It wasn’t like they were close.

It wasn’t entirely clear to Sally exactly when they left the café. They walked for a while, and after some time there were no longer tables next to the chairs – or if there were tables, they were more like work desks than dining tables. The Doctor, at least, seemed to know where they were going, and was going slowly enough for Sally to keep up. The Doctor led Sally to a trap door, which revealed a long spiral staircase illuminated by candlelight. The titles Sally recognised were mystery novels – Doyle and Camalleri and Laxness and Pavlov and Slaughter and Zafon and Christie – but they were far outstripped by those she didn’t recognise, some written in _scripts_ she didn’t recognise.

When they reached the bottom, they were in a dank rainforest. Large golden bats flitted overhead. The trees, she realised, contained bookshelves full of books with spines the exact colour and texture of the surrounding bark. She wondered what they were about, but didn’t disturb them, out of fear of spoiling the effect. They hurried across a rope bridge that spanned a tall canyon, and at the far end, they walked along a narrow held about three metres off the ground in a wide, dusty corridor. They were walking, Sally realised, along the top of a very tall bookshelf. Strange orbs hung in the sky just above their heads, well within arm’s reach, but the Doctor paid them no mind, so neither did Sally. Eventually they came to a ladder, about ten metres long but at a reasonably gentle angle. At the top they reached another corridor, still only wide enough for them to walk single file. It twisted and turned in such a way that Sally was sure they were going in circles, but they never got back to the ladder.

“Doctor, are you sure this is the right way?” asked Sally.

“It’s a bit late for that, Sally,” said the Doctor. “It’s the _only_ way. Notice anything strange about the books?”

All the books in this corridor seemed to be identical: hardback, the same size and shape, and the same dark cherry-red spines with no title or author or publisher or markers of any kind. They reminded Sally of encyclopaedias from the university library. “They’re all the same,” she said.

“Well, when they stop being the same, we’ll have arrived.”

They walked and walked, making sharp right turns about every sixty seconds. Feeling bored, Sally started to count her steps between the turns. Always sixty, if she wanted to match the Doctor’s pace. Then she pressed her first two fingers under her jaw and started counting her heartbeats. That was harder – she kept losing count, or worrying that she’d double-counted. Finally she used her watch to count the seconds, which was almost as dull as doing nothing but confirmed that it was _exactly_ sixty seconds between each turn. They seemed to be staying exactly level, which meant they were in the same physical space. Were they truly just going round in circles, looking at the same identical books.

Wait. These books weren’t identical. Well, they still all looked the same as each other, but they didn’t look the same as _before_. They were still the same shape and size, but instead of cherry-red, the spines were crimson, closer to an apple than a cherry. Was Sally imagining it?

After another eight turns, there was no denying it. It was happening very subtly, but there was a definite gradual shift of the hue of the spines of the books. They were now starting to turn a rusty orange.

“Doctor, you said we’d be there when the books had changed,”

“Still a way to go,” said the Doctor, not breaking stride. “Are you thirsty?”

“No, I’m mostly just bored.”

“Did you bring a book?”

Sally reached into her coat pocket and pulled out _Double Exposure_. “I’m not sure I can read while walking.”

“Here.” The Doctor stopped suddenly. Sally was so used to walking that she nearly walked into him as he turned to face her. She narrowly avoided that embarrassment and tried to act casual, as if she’d meant to stand extremely close to him. She handed him the book. He ran his finger up and down the spine, and suddenly Sally could hear a woman’s voice. She turned, expecting to see someone coming down the corridor behind them, but no.

“That’s the book,” said the Doctor. “It’s set to audio. Beamed directly to your vestibulocochlear nerve. Swipe along the spine to turn it off.”

“There’s another line on your hand, Doctor,” said Sally. And there was, in parallel to the existing two: ≡

“Ah,” said the Doctor. “Hopefully that’s the identity sign. Like a souped-up equals sign.”

“Hopefully?” said Sally.

“I’m 95% confident. Well, 80%. At least 30%.”

“There’s a big difference between 95% and 30%!”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” said the Doctor. Sally wasn’t so sure. Was the Doctor’s memory even worse than she had feared?

They kept walking, Sally now with Sylvia Plath’s words in her head. The books continued to slowly transition from red to orange to yellow, and then onward through the colours of the rainbow. Sally got through two chapters before the spines turned chartreuse. After another two, they were a dark cyan, and Sally was getting tired. But they were really progressing along the colour spectrum now. What would happen when they reached the end?

From cyan, they moved onto blue, and then indigo. And then, if anything, the colour transitions seemed to slow. Perhaps Sally’s eyes couldn’t distinguish between the shades of violet as well as they could with other colours. Now, though, she noticed that the shelves were closer together than they had been. The Doctor said that they weren’t moving, so they didn’t need to worry about being crushed – the corridor was just progressively narrower as you were along it. Soon they had to turn sideways to fit through, but the Doctor showed no sign of being deterred. If anything, they sped up, scurrying nimbly on between the shelves, and Sally hurried to keep up. The book spines darkened, into a deep violet, turning so dark that Sally thought they were black. The shelves, too, were constantly getting imperceptibly narrower. Then, just Sally called out to the Doctor that there wasn’t enough room and they’d have to turn back, they turned one last corner and found a corridor with empty shelves. Their emptiness gave Sally just enough wiggle room to squeeze along…

… And then she was falling.


	4. Chapter 4

Sally was falling, falling, falling, through an endless black expanse. This was not space. There were no stars. There was nothing around her in any direction except for absolute black which smothered her. She could twist and turn, giving her a full field of view, but she starting tumbling head over heels, and lost her sense of orientation. Her overwhelming sensation was of doom. She was going to fall and fall forever through the endless night, and she would keep falling even after she had shuffled off her mortal coil.

“Sally. Sally, what are you doing?”

“Doctor?”

“Sally, look at me,”

“I can’t, I’m falling…”

“You’re not falling, Sally. There’s nowhere to fall to. There’s nothing beneath you. You’re just not used to the sensation of being weightless. You’re perfectly safe.”

“Where am I?”

“ _Look at me,_ Sally.”

And just like that, Sally stopped tumbling. The Doctor was stood still in front of her, upside down, his arm outstretched towards her like a lifebuoy thrown overboard.

“Why are you upside down?”

“I’m not. You are.”

Now that she had locked eyes with the Doctor, it was a struggle to regain the momentum she had when she was tumbling. But Sally fidgeted and squirmed until she was properly orientated. Only then did she clasp the Doctor’s outstretched hand.

“Where are we?” Sally asked.

“This is a sort of safety feature,” said the Doctor. “A null space within the library. Alexandria was built through an endowment of the Braxiatel collection, using pirate technology from the Dreamweavers of Dashra, the Celestis, and my people, the Time Lords.”

“I’m not following you.”

“Well… look, libraries, bookshops, and so forth, they’re incredible things at the best of times. They stretch and distort space and time. Books are crammed full of knowledge. Knowledge is power, power is energy, energy is matter, and matter is mass. Every single book contains worlds, so a sufficiently large library is an extremely intelligent supermassive black hole. Combine that with the advanced technology that supports Alexandria’s functioning and reality is being warped left, right, and centre. Whole sections of this library are impossible. Most of the books shouldn’t exist and the architecture is Escherian. This is a void-space where all the dangerous energies and colliding realities can be siphoned off from the library.”

“Sorry, still not following you.”

“Well, just accept that this is a safe place. Because I’m sorry, Sally, but the library isn’t safe. We were being followed, and this was the only way I could throw them off our scent.”

“You told me you checked. You told me nothing bad ever happened in this library.”

“I did. No invasions, no despots, no serious accidents, nothing more heated than polite disagreement. Unfortunately I was relying on the records. They’re good records, but some things can never be recorded. They are rare – at least, as far as I know, they are rare – but across the universe, there are several hostile anti-memetic phenomena.”

“Anti-what?”

“Anti-memetic. The opposite of memetic.”

“As in… memes?”

“As in information that can be recorded, reproduced, and changed, yes. That’s most information in the world. But there are some things which either cannot be recorded, or if they can then that information cannot be reproduced, or cannot be accessed, or the memory of it is erased from the mind as soon as it isn’t immediately pertinent.”

Sally tried not to react.

“These marks on my hand aren’t an identity sign. They’re tally marks. It’s the system I use for recording when I have encountered an anti-memetic creature known as a Silent.”

“A Silent?”

“They look like the Scream. The painting by Edvard Munch?”

And, yes, that gave Sally a pang of recognition. “We saw one… in the rainforest room.”

“That’s why I gained an extra tally mark. That’s why we inexplicably ran across a rope bridge.”

“But… why didn’t I remember seeing it? I thought you were just being inexplicable.”

“It’s anti-memetic. When you look away, your memory of having looked at it is erased from your mind until you next see it.”

“Yes,” said Sally. “I remember now. You explained this already. You said… you said I wouldn’t remember it until I saw it again. And then when you mentioned _The Scream_ … it must have triggered an image of it in my mind’s eye.”

“Yes, must have,” said the Doctor. “I didn’t think that would work. Perhaps the null space counteracts the anti-memetic properties somehow. Do you have a permanent marker on you?”

“No…”

“Here,” the Doctor produced one from one of their many pockets and handed it to Sally. “Mark yourself if you see one of the creatures. Then when you notice the new mark, you know you’ve seen one and you need to move.”

“So it isn’t strictly anti-memetic, then?”

“In the sense that _no_ information about it can ever be recorded? No, it isn’t. It has some anti-memetic properties, but it isn’t perfectly anti-memetic. That’s a very perceptive question.” The Doctor glanced into the vast blackness, then back to Sally. “I can’t let this stand, Sally. You know that, right? Whatever the Silence are doing here, I need to make sure it doesn’t threaten Alexandria.”

“I agree.”

“You do?”

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

“I thought you weren’t looking for trouble.”

“I’m not. But sometimes… sometimes there’s trouble out there, and you have to choose whether you’re going to stand back and let it rage, or whether you’re going to stop it. Alexandria is precious. I’m not going to let anything ruin it.”

“I’m really starting to like you, Sally Sparrow.”

“Are they dangerous, the Silence?”

“When they want to be. They are capable of shooting extremely powerful lightning bolts from their fingers, they have low-level psychic abilities, and of course they have near-perfect stealth. It’s OK to be afraid.”

“How did you know I was afraid?”

“You’re too sensible to not be afraid,” the Doctor said, and Sally worried that she was blushing. “I’m going to take us back out of the null space. Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

“OK. Three, two, one…”

The foyer of the library appeared around them. They were a very small distance off the ground, but landed comfortably on their feet next to the TARDIS as if they hadn’t fallen at all. The Doctor span back and forth a couple of times, and then checked his hands. “Still just three lines. We’re going to have to track them down.”

“Doctor,” said Sally. “Is that… is that Obro?”

The Doctor turned to the desk. The avian librarian was not behind the desk. Indeed, this librarian looked much more terrestrial.

“Hello,” said the Doctor. “I’m very pleased to meet you.”

“Ook?”


	5. Chapter 5

“Doctor,” said Sally. “That’s an orangutan. An actual, real life orangutan. And it’s alphabetising those shelves.”

“Please excuse my friend, she’s very new to this.”

“Ook.”

“Great. I was wondering if you had seen the Silence around here?”

“Ook?”

“Silence with a capital S. They’re an anti-memetic life form. Look like Munch’s _Scream_ dressed up in a tuxedo.”

“Ook!”

“You’ve been a great help, thank you,” said the Doctor, and he went striding off to the left.

“You know,” said Sally. “I feel like I could understand what he said, but all I heard was “ook”.”

“You didn’t think everyone here was using 21st century English for everything, did you? The TARDIS is translating everything for you.”

“How does that work? I mean, good translation involves so much context and nuance and figurative language and… I mean, if the TARDIS can translate poetry, it should be able to _write_ poetry…”

The Doctor halted in his tracks, and stood stock still, staring into space. “That’s it. The Silence have a long-running interest in TARDIS technology. This place is the greatest source of information on TARDIS technology outside of Gallifrey. There’s a whole basement dedicated to books by and about TARDISes. It would be impenetrable to anyone who didn’t have a TARDIS of their own, though.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“It wouldn’t be _physically_ impenetrable. Just understanding the contents of the books, and even how to find the right book… there’s no way anyone other than a Time Lord or a sufficiently autonomous TARDIS could ever get their head around even beginning to decode it. But they can get in and they can take the books. And then they’d just have to steal a TARDIS, or find a renegade Time Lord prepared to help them, and they’d be able to access all the secrets of the Time Lords. They’d make Augustus Kerblam seem like small fry.” He turned to Sally. “How do you feel about slides?”

“Slides you look at, or slides you go down?” said Sally, as they started walking again.

“Slides you go down.”

“Not been on one for a while, but enjoyed it last time.”

“Why did you stop?”

“I… I don’t know. I can’t say I actually remember the last time I went down a slide, come to mention it.”

“Well then, time to start again,” said the Doctor. Ahead of them was a yellow plastic tube slide, more than wide enough for an adult human to go down. Sally peered down it. She could just about make out the light at the far end.

“I’ll go first,” said the Doctor. “That way, if it is a trap, you can rescue me.” He sat himself at the top of the slide and pushed off. Sally watched him go. It was a surreal sight, to see this ancient and terrible alien taking a pleasant ride down a children’s slide. She had to stop herself giggling at the thought of him squealing in delight.

The Doctor reached the bottom and shouted up for Sally. She got in and allowed herself to enjoy the simple pleasure of going down a slide. It didn’t seem to take as long for her to go down it as it had for the Doctor, but maybe that was just because she was enjoying it so much.

“Right, that’s enough of that,” said the Doctor when she reached the bottom. “It’s just in here.” He gestured at a cupboard under the slide. 

“Doctor, that’s so tiny! Surely there are no Silence in there?”

“Oh, Sally, soon you’ll learn that when Time Lords are involved, things are never quite as small as they seem…” said the Doctor. He opened the door, inwards – Sally hadn’t thought the cupboard big enough for the door to open inwards – and revealed…

“Of course,” said Sally, downbeat. “Bigger on the inside.” Once upon a time the very notion of something being bigger on the inside would have filled her with wonder. Now it was just Tuesday. This was not a cupboard under the stairs, but a room bigger than the Kerblam warehouse in Cardiff, filled with rows and rows of bookshelves. They ducked through the cupboard door. This was a dark room with teal carpets. They were stood in a central walkway between many long rows of books. Faint sunbeams streamed through dim windows high on the far wall, but most of the room was in the shadows of the bookcases.

“Sally, the Silence already have access to a limited form of time travel and have shown interest in developing TARDIS technology. If they get access to the information this library contains then all they need to do is get a Time Lord or a TARDIS into translating it for them. It would be disastrous for all of reality, every universe, and the entirety of the web of time.”

“Is time a web? I thought you said it was a ball.”

“If you look at a cylinder from above then it looks like a circle, if you look at it from the side it looks like a rectangle. Multidimensional concepts can look like multiple things. In this case, time is naturally a messy ball, but the web of time is the only reason the universe obeys any rules or makes any sense. Not that you’ve got any hope of comprehending it in any case. Where was I?”

“Stopping the Silence.”

“Yes! Stopping the Silence. OK. We need to cover as much ground as possible as quickly as possible. That means splitting up, I’m afraid. You search that way. If you see a Silent, mark yourself. If you find a mark you don’t remember making, run away and come and find me. Otherwise, I’ll meet you back here when you’re done.”

The Doctor turned and headed away at a brisk pace. Sally could only walk in the opposite direction and hope nothing bad happened.

***

The Doctor didn’t think Sally would approve of running in a library outside of an immediate threat to either lives or books, so he made sure he was out of her sight before he started running. The most efficient way to search was for him to run in a straight line down an aisle between rows, looking either way down each row as he passed. A quick glance was more than enough time for a Time Lord to make out whether there was a Silent stood in a row of books and mark it down on their hand.

Even running – and at a speed comparable to a human sprint – it took the Doctor a few minutes to make it to the far end of the room. He nearly ran into the end wall, being so busy quickly flicking his head left and right that he didn’t look straight ahead. Composing himself, he glanced down at his left hand. He couldn’t make out a single mark. Not to say there weren’t any. In fact, he seemed to have coloured his entire hand black. That was a terrifyingly large number of Silents.

“I ain’t got a clue what you think you’re playin’ at,” said a stern voice to the Doctor’s left. “But I’m doin’ some very important witchcraft here.”

The Doctor turned. He saw an elderly woman wearing black robes and a pointy black hat. Her skin had deep wrinkles, but no warts or other blemishes, and her eyebrows had a familiar fierceness to them.

“Are…” the Doctor began. “are you who I think you are?”

“Probably,” she said. “But I ain’t a mindreader.”

“Are you… me?”

“No,” she said. “Pull yourself together. You’re you, and _I’m_ me.”

“Sorry, I’m the Doctor. Who might you be? Are you with the Silence?”

“Now why would a right-minded person be workin’ with that lot?”

“Well, you never can tell.”

“That’s probably true. You’re just about daft enough to be workin’ with ‘em. You a wizard?”

“Er… to some people, I suppose. You still haven’t told me your name.”

“You can call me Mistress Weatherwax.”

The Doctor smiled. “Ah, yes, I _do_ know you! Esmerelda Weatherwax, the Other One of the Lancre Coven, possibly the greatest witch who ever lived.”

“Don’t talk rubbish,” said Granny Weatherwax. “I’m just an ordinary witch. I just came here because my reality is being threatened and nobody else was going to do anythin’ about it. Anyone would do the same.”

The Doctor was usually good at seeming in control of a situation. In fact, he prided himself on his ability to keep collected. So, in that instant, he fought a desperate battle against the grin that had invaded his face. He lost, badly, and the price was his dignity.

“Do you have a plan?” he asked.

“Not much use in plannin’” said Granny Weatherwax. “Situations like this, you’ve just got to trust what you’re made of. First sight and second thoughts and hope for the best.”

“A woman after my own heart!”

“Don’t be getting ideas,” Granny said.

“Sorry, just speaking metaphorically.”

“Well, don’t. If something needs sayin’, then say it plainly. No use hidin’ what you mean in fancy language, wizard.”

The insult stung a little. “Fine. Plain words. Mistress Weatherwax, what are the present limits of your power?”

“I give the universe suggestions and let it decide whether to take them on board.”

“I thought you were against metaphors?”

“It ain’t a metaphor.”

The Doctor stepped closer to Granny Weatherwax. “Mistress, this library is infested with creatures called Silents. They belong to a militant sect of a death cult and can erase themselves from human memory as soon as you look away.”

“You don’t need to be tellin’ me.”

“I don’t normally believe in magic, but here you are, stood right in front of me. So forgive me, but I have to ask – do you have the ability to shift them into a universe where they can’t hurt anyone?”

“I should think so. Just got to give ‘em a chance to stand down voluntarily. Fair’s fair. Ain’t ethnical to bump them into a ‘nother world without givin’ ‘em a chance.”

“Ethical… never mind. I agree. One last question, Esmerelda… when did you start tallying Silence?”

“I ain’t.”

“Look at your hands.”

Granny looked at the backs of her hands. Then the front. They were covered in tiny tallies.

The pair of them turned in opposite directions to find a clump of Silence surrounding them.

“ _Hag of hags_ ,” they hissed, the voice seeming to come from all of them and none. “ _Beast of Trenzalore. Speak now, and forever hold your peace.”_

The Silence extended their arms towards the two crones, and white electricity shot towards them, lighting up the room like a flashbulb. Granny Weatherwax collapsed to the floor, unconscious. A blessing. The Doctor’s legs and waist went rigid, and the rest of his body convulsed. He screamed in agony. The seconds stretched out, and eventually he passed out.

***

Sally was very much opposed to hurrying around books, but desperate times called for desperate measures. She made sure she was out of view of the Doctor, as she was sure he would disapprove, before she broke into a gentle trot. She looked both ways down each aisle, though at first she had to stop and look carefully to make sure there were no creepy yellow heads floating in the shadows. But each time she looked, she started to rush slightly more, no longer paying quite as much attention and instead trusting her first impressions. She checked her hands repeatedly to make sure she hadn’t just forgotten about seeing a Silent, but no – they were completely unmarked, and the cap was still on her pen. 

Then, out of the corner of her eye, Sally saw something move midway down an aisle. She stopped and peered concertedly down the aisle. She checked her hands. Still blank. So, cautiously, she crept down the aisle, keeping her eyes wide open. She wondered how much of the Doctor’s life had been spent staring at things, too scared to look away. Although in this case, she was staring at _nothing_ , and for all she knew, it wasn’t even the right nothing. There were a near infinite number of hostile nothings which needed to be stared at all the time.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She very much had the impression that one of those nothings was now staring at her. The rational thing to do was to turn around and check, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

“Is there anybody there?” she asked. And, unfortunately, there was an answer.

“Aye, Rob… ah mean, nae… ah mean… Och, crivens.”


	6. Chapter 6

“Daft Wullie,” said another voice, “whit did ah say aboot keeping yer muckle geggy shut?”

This was not what Sally imagined the Silents sounded like. And, while she couldn’t quite see where the voices were coming from, she could tell that they were coming from very low down. She didn’t think that Silents were that short, either.

“Whoever’s there,” she said, steeling her voice, “I’m not afraid of you.”

There was a moment of silence, and Sally wondered whether she had imagined that outbreak of Scots. But then, there was a response.

“A’right men, oot wi’ ye.”

Then, from the gaps between books and shelves appeared dozens of tiny blue men with thick red hair, wearing kilts.

“Dinnae mynd us, lassie, we're juist 'ere tae gie some creepy scunners a guid kicking,” said one of the blue men, with a bushy red beard.

“Erm… by creepy scunners, do you mean the Silence?”

“Th’ Skinny Malinky Longlegs? Aye, ah reckon that'd be thaim.”

“And who might you be? I’m Sally.”

“Dinnae tell the bigjob lassie yer name, Rob,” said a different one.

“Daft Wullie,” said the bearded one, who Sally took to be Rob, “I’ll gie ye a skelpit lug if ye dinnae keep wheest, ye eejit.” He turned back to Sally. “A wullnae be telling ye mah name, lassie, oan accoont that tis mah hiddlin ‘n’ a dinnae ken whit ye plan tae dae wi' it. We ur pictsies, th’ Nac Mac Feegle, and a'm th' Big Man o' th' Chalk Hill clan.”

“And you’ve got a plan for taking on the Silence?”

“Och aye, punching awthing forordinar seems tae wirk.”

There was a terrible scream – a man’s – and a flash of light. The Doctor!

Sally turned and ran back towards the scream. A stampede of tiny feet followed her. She no longer wasted time checking down the rows of books for Silence, or worrying that running was inappropriate behaviour in a library. Her heart pounded in her chest as she ran.

Then, right against the far wall, a Silent wobbled into view. Sally skidded to a halt and leapt behind a bookshelf. Bemused, she stepped straight back out into the gangway. Silent. She marked her hand and stepped back behind the bookshelf. Experiencing a strong case of déjà vu and now holding a permanent marker, she checked the back of her left hand. Sure enough, there was a Mark. She’d seen a Silent. Peering out around the corner, she saw it three of them – two extra marks. They were about two metres tall, with dark yellow skin, flabby hands, and bodies which wobbled like jelly on a pottery wheel. The first pointed at a door, and it opened, as if by magic. The other two walked behind prone bodies that floated about a metre off the ground. One was the Doctor. The other was an old woman dressed in black, who appeared to be a similar age to the Doctor.

“The hag o’ hags,” said Daft Wullie. “Oh, waily, waily, waily…” Fortunately, Wullie was silenced by a punch from Rob.

They were, at least, breathing. But the Silence had them. They floated their bodies through the open door, and then waddled in after them. The door shut behind them.

“A'richt wee jimmies, time tae dae whit we dae best,” said Rob.

“Swallin ‘n’ stealin’?” said Daft Wullie. Rob clobbered him.

“Na, ye dunderheided gowk. Fightin’ and noggin’.”

“They have hostages,” said Sally. “If you just punch your way in then they could kill them. We’ve got to be careful.”

“Canny ne’er git anythin dane.”

“Mebbe… I mean, maybe. But my friend’s life is at stake, and I’m not going to let a bunch of angry Smurfs go and smurf it all up just because you’re itching for a fight.”

“Braw, hae it yer wey. Ye git anither plan?”


	7. Chapter 7

Sally stood with her back to the wall, just by the door to the room where the Silence had taken the Doctor. One of the Feegles pushed the door open the tiniest of cracks.

“No, I won’t,” said the Doctor. Sally’s heart skipped a beat. “You’re going to have to keep trying.”

There was a noise from the Silence, although Sally couldn’t quite make it out, and then there was another flash of light and the Doctor screamed again.

“ _Push it further_ ,” she hissed, and a second Feegle went to help his brother. Now Sally leant against the door frame, peering into the room. The Doctor and the woman – Sally wasn’t at all sure about calling her a “hag”, but the Feegles didn’t have another name for her – were tied back-to-back in a couple of chairs in the middle of the room. The Doctor was facing away from the door, and a group of Silents were looming menacingly over him.

“Is that…” the Doctor said, before breaking out into a splutter. “Is that all you’ve got?”

Another bolt of lightning shot from the fingertips of the Silent stood in front of the Doctor. He spasmed in pain. Sally winced herself. When she looked back up, the old woman eye contact with her and gave a tiny, almost imperceptible, but definite nod of recognition. Sally tried to return it, but doubted she quite matched the hag’s gravitas.

The lightning stopped. A smell like burnt toast wafted through.

“ _You will tell us,_ ” said the Silent.

“No, I don’t think I will. You know why? One, I don’t want to. Two, you must never know. And three, because I know that as long as I don’t tell you, you need me alive.”

The Silent seemed to glance at its compatriots. Sally wondered how it managed to stay stood up, it wobbled so much.

“ _Torturing you is an inefficient means of extracting information._ ”

“You’re finally cottoning onto that? Well, congratulations, I suppose.”

“ _Instead, we shall torture your companion_.”

“Ha!” laughed the woman. “I don’t care what you do, I ain’t gonna crack. And I ain’t got nothin’ to tell you, anyway.”

“ _No,_ ” said the Silent. “ _It is not you who shall crack, Esmerelda Weatherwax._ ”

“And neither’s the Doctor,” said Weatherwax. “I ain’t one for braggin’, but I’m quite capable of witchin’ up somethin’ to stop the likes of you. “

“ _If you were capable of acting against us, you would already have done so._ ”

“Oh, I have acted against you. First trick of witchin’ is first sight: seein’ what’s really there, instead of what your brain tries to tell you _ought_ to be there.” Sally stared at Weatherwax. Was… was it a trick of the light, or was she starting to turn oh-so-slightly transparent? “And second trick of witchin’ is turnin’ someone immune to lightnin’ bolts.” And with this, Mistress Weatherwax turned to Sally again. When they made eye contact, Sally felt warmth radiate out from the back of her neck, down into the pit of her stomach and out to her extremities. This, Sally realised, must be what invincibility feels like.

Sally flung the door open and charged the nearest Silent. She knocked it clean off its feet, and it collapsed to the floor like a pack of cards. The next one came for her, but she threw a punch and it fell backwards.

“Thay mak' tak' oor minds, bit thay'll ne'er tak' oor deaths!” screamed Rob Anybody, as the clan of Feegles streamed into the room. They swarmed the remaining Silents, drowning them in a sea of blue, red, and kilts.

“Sally,” said Mistress Weatherwax. “First sight.”

And Sally realised… not only was Mistress Weatherwax fading away, but so were the Silents and the Feegles. And then, just like that, they completely disappeared.


	8. Chapter 8

Sally sipped on a vanilla-lemonade ice cream float while she read _Night Watch_ by Terry Pratchett. The Doctor sucked a strange berry smoothie through a straw. They were sat in a little nook in the library café, surrounded almost entirely by cookery books and books about food and drink.

“I worked out what happened,” said the Doctor. “Why we started seeing fictional characters and people who weren’t there.” He paused expectantly, but Sally had nothing to offer to the conversation. “I tried to visualise a book. It didn’t work. I thought it might be my Time Lord neurology. I tried to get help, but couldn’t find anyone and then I guess I forgot about the visualiser.”

“That’s why you started seeing Discworld characters?”

“In part. But it doesn’t explain the Silence, or why you saw the same things I did. Except you didn’t see the same things I did, did you?”

“I… I think I did?”

“Describe the Silents, then.”

“They were about eight foot tall… yellow… beady eyes… wobbled around like jelly… big flabby hands…”

“Sally, that’s not what the Silents look like. That’s what _The Scream_ looks like. You’ve never seen an actual Silent, so when I described them to you, your mind filled in the gaps.”

“But why did I start hallucinating… oh. The suggestibility mites?”

“Exactly. We both had small amounts of them attached to us from the thing with Augustus. Even worse, I gave the TARDIS an inspection when I got back to it. You know how it translates everything you read and hear? Well, the TARDIS translation matrix was being interfered with by the mites. Because we’re telepathically linked to the TARDIS, when I started to worry about the Silents, the TARDIS and the suggestibility mites started making them appear. When I tried to visualise the book, the TARDIS presented it to me as if it was reality.”

“So none of it was real?”

“No, no. Just because something’s a hallucination doesn’t mean it wasn’t real. The pain I felt was real. The fear you felt was real. The courage you summoned up was real.”

“And Mistress Weatherwax turning me immune to lightning bolts?”

“On one hand, you could argue that because you were hallucinating the Silents, if you thought you were immune to lightning bolts then you probably were. On the other hand, Granny Weatherwax uses the placebo effect generously. She calls it ‘headology’. And speaking of which, Rob Anybody, Ah ken ye'r thare, sae stoap listenin in oan ither fowk tokn or come oot 'n' jyne in.”

There was another pregnant pause, and then, once again, a load of small blue heads poked up from the gaps between books, behind decorations, and the cracks between furniture. There, just behind the Doctor’s left shoulder, was the familiar red beard of Rob Anybody, Big Man of the Chalk Hill clan.

“Och, howfur did ye ken we wur 'ere?” he asked.

“A'm as sharp as ony witch, ‘n’ twa times as Scots, 'n' dinnae ye forgoat it.”

“Doctor, do we still have the mite chemicals in our systems?”

“No, Sally, these Feegles are real.”

Sally stared back at him. He was trying to wind her up. “Doctor, I know the Discworld isn’t real. The astrophysics alone are ridiculous.”

“The Discworld doesn’t exist in your reality, no. The Feegles, however, have an innate ability to step through the gaps between realities.”

“Aye, the crawstep. Yer universe haes loads o' scunners wha need a guid batter. Seems lik' a stoatin steid fur us.”

“Mibbie,” said the Doctor, “bit this is ma patch. Th' Disc needs ye tae keep it a' lined up, ye ken?”

“Ah suppose that's aboot troo,” said Rob. “Bit if ever thir's a kinch that yi''ll need a Feegle tae solve, we'll be thare. Tak’ care, Doctor, Sally.”

“Thanks… Big Man,” said Sally.

“Ah, na uise pretending ye dinnae ken mah name, lassie. Juist promise ne'er tae gie it tae a polis detective or an advocate or a’body lik’ that. Ta anyway.”

And with that, Rob Anybody and his Feegles crawstepped away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE DOCTOR AND SALLY SPARROW WILL RETURN IN "THE SPARROW'S NEST"
> 
> Apologies to anyone out there who is offended by the low-quality Scots. I consulted some online resources but didn't have a beta reader. I cribbed some bits (particularly most of the non-standard bits) from Pratchett. I did use some apostrophes that purists might not like - this arose from etymological ignorance rather than malice. I felt, on balance, my work was unlikely to do significant harm to the Scots language, and so being a bit crap was forgivable.
> 
> The next story is when I completely sell out and abandon this "plot" nonsense for stuff that actually gets hits on ao3. It might not work but I need my dopamine. (On that note, obligatory "make sure you smash that kudos button"). I do think it is actually good stuff, although your tastes may vary. If you really don't want to read a queer Whovian romcom then (assuming you're reading this in a distant future when I have actually finished this) you should be able to safely skip to part 4 with minimal confusion.


End file.
